


Soft Things

by airspaniel



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Crossdressing, Gender Issues, Lingerie, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-07-17
Packaged: 2018-12-03 05:07:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11525181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/airspaniel/pseuds/airspaniel
Summary: Yuri dresses up, with a little help.





	Soft Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Yuri_Plisetsky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuri_Plisetsky/gifts).



> I tried to write a pwp with lots of fucking and lingerie and instead I spilled a whole lot of feelings and gender ambiguity all over the place. I know it's not exactly what you wanted yuri_plisetsky, but I hope you like it anyway!

The panties are white cotton, with a simple lace trim at the top. There's a little pink bow in the front, under his navel, over the soft bulge of his cock.  They're practical, comfortable - the kind of panties a girl would wear everyday, not the extravagant confections of straps and satin he's seen online. Those panties are meant to be seen; meant to be _taken off._ These are meant to be worn. A soft secret just for him.

Yuri shivers and wills himself to not get hard. He doesn't want to ruin this.

The bra is stretchy pink lace, no clasps, no padding, but when he tugs it into place over his chest, it hugs the muscle there and... softens it. Makes the shallow dip between his pectorals look soft and alluring, the rosier red peek of his nipples through the fabric something a little naughty. Tempting. His chest heaves slightly now as his breathing speeds up, and he loses a minute staring at his breasts in the mirror.

A gentle knock at the door snaps him out of it. "Yurio?" Katsuki calls from the other side. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine, pig!" he yells back, startled. He catches his reflection, half dressed and half hard and flushed; caught in the spaces between the transformation. "I'll be out in a minute," he says in a softer voice, and it's not an apology, but he might have sort of meant it as one anyway.

"All right," Katsuki says. "Let me know if you need any help."

Yuri doesn't respond to that, just looks at the items left on the bed and doesn't think about why he's blushing now. It'll be easier to put the stockings on if he does them first, but the dress would make the biggest change as fast as possible. He picks it up, the satiny spring green fabric soft in his hands. It’s a simple cut, heart-shaped neckline fanning up into short little fluttery lace sleeves that will brush against the muscle of his shoulders, softening their hard lines into something more delicate. The skirt flares out at the hips, will fall to just below his knees, and Yuri doesn’t even have to put it on to know how pretty it will look when he spins. 

He puts the dress back down and picks up one of the stockings. He doesn’t want to risk wrinkling the skirt, doesn’t want to give in to the impatient itch burning just below his skin, not yet. He has to do this right.

The stockings are really more like over-the-knee socks, thin white cotton that Yuri takes care to ease over his blistered and bandaged feet, making sure the material doesn’t catch or pull. He rolls them up over his calves, first one, then the other, tugging them gently until they lie correctly on his thighs. The tops look like cat faces, little pink ears and noses, and he smiles at how cute they are upside-down. It’s stupid - this whole thing is stupid, really - but they make him feel good. More like himself.

Not that he’s not himself. That’s not what this is about. Fuck, he doesn’t know _what_ exactly this is about, doesn’t have the words to justify it. He just likes it. That’s all. Victor would probably lose his damn mind trying to prove he was supportive, would have too many words, shit like “gender non-conforming” and “trans identity” and ask him about his pronouns, and Yuri can’t deal with that. Not right now. Maybe not ever.

But Katsuki... Katsuki just looked at him like he was solving a puzzle and then:  “Okay, Yuri,” he’d said, no nicknames, no mockery or challenge, and smiled that infuriating little fond smile like he thought Yuri was being cute. Like… like Yuri was someone he cared about. “What do you want to do about it?”

And so here he is, doing something about it.

He picks up the dress again, turning it around in his hands to slide the zipper down, to undo the little hidden clasp at the back. It slips over his head, a soft and brief enveloping darkness, and he closes his eyes as it falls over his shoulders, against his sides, arms tucking neatly into the sleeves. With the zipper undone, it hangs loose around his chest, and he folds his hands over the fabric, to keep it pressed against him. It would be easy enough to twist his arms behind his back, to pull the zipper up against his spine, but…

His face flushes even redder at the idea. The man had said to call if he needed help.

“Hey, Katsudon!“ Yuri yells, and it feels wrong for some reason, too harsh somehow. “Come give me a hand?”

The door starts to open and Yuri turns his back to it, not wanting to see the look on Katsuki's face. But the silence is almost worse. He has no idea what the man is thinking, no idea what he looks like, no idea what this is, and it kind of scares the shit out of him.

“Zip me up?” He asks, quiet but determined. Fear has never stopped him before.

“Sure,” Katsuki says, easy, and Yuri swears he can feel the heat of his body as he comes closer. He’s so focused on that, that when a hand touches his waist, it makes him jump a little.

Katsuki laughs, soft and still so fucking fond. “It’s all right,” he says, as he takes the zipper in his other hand and slowly draws it upward. The dress pulls close around Yuri’s body, hugging his slender frame just tight enough. He sighs at how good it feels.

Katsuki’s hands are warm between Yuri’s shoulder blades, fastening the small clasp at the top. “There,” he says, and pats his hand against it, his palm muted by the fabric of the dress, but his fingers soft and warm against Yuri’s bare skin. “You’re all set.”

“Thanks,” Yuri murmurs. He can feel himself shaking, knows that Katsuki can feel it, he feels angry and scared and embarrassed and _turned on_ and overwhelmed and he half wants to rip his clothes off and burn the stupid fucking things and half wants to never take them off again.

“Well?” Katsuki starts, expectant. “Don’t you want to see?” He still hasn’t moved his hand from Yuri’s back, and he leaves it there, nudges him ever so gently to turn towards the mirror again. And Yuri looks up and…

Huh.

He thought he’d look different, like someone else, but he doesn’t. He looks like himself, wrapped in soft and lovely things, a blush high on his cheekbones and his eyes wide and wondering, only a shade darker green than the dress itself. But what really catches his attention is the way the two of them look _together._  There he is, pale and small and bright, framed by the man standing behind him, who is taller and broader; dark hair and dark eyes and something in his expression that Yuri desperately wants to be desire. Those eyes meet his in the mirror, and Yuri is suddenly certain that _it is_.

Katsuki smiles. "Is this what you wanted?"

“Yeah,” Yuri says, a tiny, punched-out sigh of a syllable. "I really think it might be."

 


End file.
